


Interim Rivalry 101

by softwinds



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Butt. The concept of butt, Episode: s03e14 Pillows and Blankets, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:42:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softwinds/pseuds/softwinds
Summary: Troy absentmindedly extends his gaze along the pillow-stacked, slightly damaged city wall: contrary to his expectation, Troy can see the edge of a glowing night lamp standing conspicuously behind a fabric tear— and then an eye, staring back at him across the dimly lit hallway.Ah.Shit.Troy quickly ducks down his head. What on earth was he thinking? The chief commander of the entire blanket fort, alone and completely unarmed like a dumb baby lamb— if any rival soldier tries to make their mark right now—“Troy?”“It’s not Troy!” He harshes back. “Just another strikingly handsome citizen of—Abed!?”-Night before the big battle, Troy and Abed spend some time together.
Relationships: Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Comments: 14
Kudos: 117





	Interim Rivalry 101

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey! Me again! I don't write angsty things often and this is one of my first attempts (It's not really _that_ angsty). Hope it comes out alright!  
> No beta or proof read on this because im feeling kinda vulnerable recently :> so please forgive the grammar mistakes! 
> 
> tw: non-graphic mentions of war by episode theme, very brief mention of Pierce Hawthorne

Troy wriggles past the intersection between Ned Stark Memorial Tunnel and Little Gujarat, keeping his movements light to avoid being noticed. 

It’s past midnight and the fort is quiet— most Blanketsburg soldiers have drifted into sleep at their posts, resting for the imminent face-off in this blistering conflagration. However, slumber escapes him. The lead-like weight in Troy's chest is stubbornly trying to make a point, and the sentiment grows stronger that the whole ordeal is less than awesome. Hours of sweat and tears— even some blood from a deplorable Go Fish incident— have been devoted to his troubled sod; and for now, Troy needs to be alone. 

He nudges aside Garrett’s protruding feet by the corner of Spice Market, formerly the psychology classroom, now dedicated to the late 90s English pop girl group and their according paraphernalias. The snoring General mumbles something about _damn swamp witches_ before rolling his legs up, revealing a small curtain door at the hallway’s end. 

It’s the _Chamber of Chillaxing_.

Built by the master himself as a place of leisure, the secret compartment is now 80% collapsed from a battle of neck pillows slingshots. This safe-haven-for-one welcomes Troy as he worms inside. 

Troy lays down on his back, stretching his legs out to the fullest extents. For a brief moment, his brain ceases to be a war room and Troy is Troy again. Realizations dawn on him that tonight, these sleepless hours under a dome of patchwork quilts and microfiber baby blankets, might also be the final moments for him and his best friend. 

What’s Abed doing now? Probably sound asleep in his fluffy palace, not thinking of him, not _missing_ him, not clenching his fists in a fit of sullenness under the punches of that indescribable loss— If Abed indeed wanted to _break_ him emotionally and win this fight, then the cracks and twinges in Troy’s chest are indeed calling for his victory. 

But still, he shouldn’t have said the things he did. 

Troy decides that he has to rest now. Tomorrow he’ll have plenty of time to be wrecked by guilt, the day after tomorrow too, and likely the days after that as well. Yet tonight he lacks the strength to recall the damages or to calculate the outcome. Emergency exit light flashes sharply into the fort through an open rift between blankets, so Troy rolls onto his side to pull it shut. Over a small channel of unoccupied tiles, Pillowtown stands in quietude like a stoic challenger. Their citizens must be asleep too. 

Troy absentmindedly extends his gaze along the pillow-stacked, slightly damaged city wall: contrary to his expectation, Troy can see the edge of a glowing night lamp standing conspicuously behind a fabric tear— and then an eye, staring back at him across the dimly lit hallway.

Ah. _Shit_. 

Troy quickly ducks down his head. What on earth was he thinking? The chief commander of the entire blanket fort, alone and completely unarmed like a dumb baby lamb— if any rival soldier tries to make their mark right now—

“Troy?”

“It’s not Troy!” He harshes back. “Just another strikingly handsome citizen of— _Abed_!?” 

Troy pushes himself back up and looks out from the tiny window, eyes wide. Abed, now broadening the breach on his side, blinks back at him with unshrouded excitement. 

“Abed! !” Troy grins unconsideredly before remembering that he isn’t supposed to be jazzed. “I thought— I mean— What are you up to this late?”

“Thinking, trying to sleep, doing shadow puppets for First Blood 2, trying to sleep again,” Noticing Troy’s turn of expression, Abed flattens his mouth as well. “I’m coming over.”

“You _what_?” Troy panics, unable to possess what’s happening. “Wait, you can’t just come over! … There’s a war going on!”

“— Oh.” 

Abed pauses. There are strains in his silence— the worrying ones. Troy can see his face drop, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes now casting down to the side like a frigidly scolded kid. 

“It’s not—”

“It’s alright, Troy. I understand. You hate me now. We shouldn’t talk to each other.” Abed replies clippedly. “I’m going to sleep. And you should too.”

Troy sighs.

“Hang on. I just… I didn’t want you spotted by anyone, okay? Garrett’s outside, and he can yell really loud. It’s like two seals doing it.” He gulps, kneeling up and carefully squeezing an arm out into the empty hallway as if to reach towards the great unknown. “Stay where you are. I’m coming over.”

-

Abed’s fingers are wiry and chill to the touch. Troy grips onto them until he’s pulled through the tight rift and into Pillowtown’s lonesome corner— shy on flexibility compared to his homestead, but making up in its structural design and overall wall-bounciness. Troy quietly admires the room’s harmonious color palette, unaware that he’s holding his breath.

“Hey.” A voice rings from above.

“ _Hey_ ,” Troy picks up his chin and shakes himself back into reality. The rival commander gazes down at him, a mixture of emotions in his eyes. His lips are stretched, hitching slightly as if he has something to say, but the words are eventually swallowed and chewed away before being uncaged. 

Troy is startledly reminded that he, in fact, hasn’t considered an opening line either. The only thing ringing in his head during those 30 seconds of border-crossing crawl time was a mashup between Jimi Hendrix’s Lover Man and Rihana’s Breaking Dishes, because his heart was drumming so thunderously and distractingly in his chest. He wants to say that he’s _mad_ — which he is, but he also wants to say sorry and to know if sorry is enough. A more forgiving part of him wants to tell Abed about that cool juggling tricks Shirley did earlier today, although he understands that now is no longer the time. 

But he is here— and Abed wants him to be here. So maybe this is the silver lining.

“I liked your hat,” Troy eventually breaks the silence. “I liked... the feathery thing. It looked cool. I didn’t get the chance to say it.”

“Thanks,” Abed nods. “It was Starburn’s car seat pillow. I referenced the Chitrali cap of Pakistan; and yours is a classic Diadem.” He screws his lips shut for a second. “I’m not good at loaded conversations.”

“Huh?” Troy grits his teeth in frustration. “So that’s what this is. A _loaded_ conversation.”

“Yes, like that.” Abed replies paredly, unblinking.

“Dude, I crawled all the way here hoping—” Troy halts his tongue because he doesn’t actually know what he had in mind. “Just, say what you want, okay? We can still talk.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Um,” Troy sputters. “You can start by apologizing?”

“You’re loading even more things into the conversation now,” Abed turns his face away. “You mocked me, and it felt bad. I also want an apology.”

“So I still have to say sorry first, even when my best friends plotted with random people to _break my psyche_ for his tunnels made of pillows. Because that’s apparently more important.”

“You made me mad.”

“You know what? I get that, ‘cause you made me mad too— And when I’m mad I say extremely stupid stuff!” Troy feels a lump at the back of his throat, the bridge of his nose burning up. “You told everyone I was _emotionally frail_ , that I get distracted by dogs, bell bottoms— it’s not even about the legs’ shape! It’s the way they compliment the butt!”

He inhales tippedly. “You even told Magnitude! What was that? Now he’s looking at me weird!”

“Troy—”

“— Do you even remember how all this started? I just wanted to do something cool, like, just _a bit_ different from your big idea, and look how it went,” Troy cants forward into Abed’s face, ears ringing. “I am NOT your lapdog.”

“You’re an ex quarterback popular since high school, I’m an undersocialized community college student with one and one last friend at my life’s peak.” Abed frowns. “Why would _you_ be _my_ lapdog?”

“Because I,” Troy halts his tongue. His breaths are heavy and he isn’t sure he actually knows the answer. “Can you please erase those stupid messages from your memory? You know it was all bullshit. I was being dumb. Of course you’ll have new friends. Tons of them. You’re so… Nevermind.”

“They won’t be like you. I’ll have to settle.” Abed surmises. “But maybe they’ll be better at apologizing.”

“Yeah. Right.” Troy blinks. “I see.” 

“You see?”

“I see.” He hates how stubborn and stupid he’s being, but at this point he can’t seem to stop it. “So we’re not talking it out.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Abed puts a hand on Troy’s forearm. “Want to fight it out instead?”

Abed’s fingers dig into his pajama sleeve, and at the exact same time Troy grabs onto Abed’s shoulder, pulling his wrist inward for better access to his opponent’s body— for grappling. Their chests clasp together, limbs tangled, skins pinging imperviously close but can’t seem to push each other down because apparently Abed’s wiry strength is an one-hundred-percent match to his brawny muscles. Abed’s palms have shifted to his waist in an attempt to pry him away, but Troy snakes his arms behind Abed’s back so that he wouldn’t so easily prevail. They're still in a deadlock after way too much effort and the pillow-braced corner is getting hotter and hotter by the second, until Troy finally recognizes that they’re pushing dangerously close to hugging: his jaw is settled by the crook of Abed’s neck, and he can feel the soft, curled hair grazing against his temple.

Abed smells less like green tea scented soap now. Troy can’t help but notice the thinnest tinge of sweat on his adversary’s skin, and the increasingly unsteady breaths that are stirred together, foretelling the pending exhaustion of them both. He doesn’t know when it started, but at some point their opposing forces have changed directions like converging rivers. They’re no longer fighting. They’re just— holding each other close.

And it feels so nice. 

Troy can feel the tears rushing into his eyes. But no, he can’t cry, there’s no reason to cry because he is not that brittle, even though he knows that this might be the last chance he has of being this close to Abed having his fingers pressing into Abed’s skin and he doesn’t want to let go. He can’t let go. Troy isn’t sure if any of those rattling, choked-back noises has escaped from his all so laboriously shut lips since there’s no more room in his brain for embarrassment, but Abed nuzzles against his shoulder and he hears the responding mutterings. 

“Troy?”

“W-what?” Abed pulls himself away just a little, and Troy lets out a sharp breath, at loss of the comforting weight. 

Abed stares into his eyes, an unfamiliar mist veiling his pupils. Troy gulps. 

“Can I—”

Troy doesn’t know how, but their lips crash together before the question can be completed. He loosens his clutch on Abed’s lower back and pulls his palms up to his shoulder blades, slender, sharp, billowing beneath the thin fabric of his cotton pajamas. Abed’s breath twitches. His lips are hot and inviting and Troy feels like a butterfly trapped in between gentle fingers. Their breaths are once again intertwined, and something in Troy’s chest is springing up to bloom and to bear fruits and to fill every inch of his vein with their redolent extracts. There’s no way he could have fought it. There’s no way— 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Troy gasps weakly against Abed’s lips. “We’re enemies now. This isn’t what happens between enemies.” He pants. “Not in Spartacus, not in Cruel Intentions, not in Spider-Man II...”

Abed’s grasps tighten on Troy’s waist. “Does that mean I’m Doctor Octopus?” His tone is unsure but prompting. “Then we can be Professor X and Magneto instead. They are practically married in the 2005 edition of _What If_ Volume 3.”

“Only if I can be Magneto,” after a quick moment of consideration, Troy nods and leans forward. “Magneto has the cool cape.”

He inhales sharply and allows his body to fall forward, driving Abed down with him. The rival commander’s back hits the cushioned floor with a soft thud, his hips straddled snugly between Troy’s thighs. They’ve horsed around like this before, wrestling, in their volumes and volumes of fan movies, in the dreamatorium, but now it feels different. Now it feels _real_ . His brain can’t yet process what’s happening but it seems that all other parts of him already did, even though he still doesn’t know what to think. The hands on his waist shift their trails, mapping down the base of his spine and edging against the area even lower, and Troy practically _squeals_. 

“We can’t be too loud,” Abed needles. “This is an enclosed quarter, but I’ve noticed Leonard’s tendency of sleepwalking.”

Troy swallows his whimpers. He’s so hard and he’d really, _really_ , very much like to grind down his hips despite all good logic warning him that this is so wrong on so many levels. For one, the owners of these flooring pillows definitely wouldn’t want him doing what he has in mind, especially not with their home fort’s commander and leader, his ex best friend and newfound bitter rival and maybe now something else; but his heart pleads and shouts and lights up a thousand fireworks, screaming yes, _yes, this is just right, this is flawless and guileless, can’t you see how everything’s falling into place?_

Abed moves his hips before Troy can make the decision. He hisses, feeling the outline of a boner pushed up against the side of his butt, hard and searing, maybe the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him (It is. It definitely is). 

Troy sinks his teeth into his lower lip. “Abed,” he manages. “Can you touch me?”

Abed nods, a weak, high-pitched noise tumbles out from his throat. The strain lessens on the base of his back and starts migrating to the roots of his thighs, and Troy acutely realizes what that movement denotes.

“I uh, I can manage that part,” his voice is raspy and unmodulated. “It will be nice if you—maybe—” Troy shuts his eyes tight, his volume almost lower than a whisper. “...Butt stuff?”

The fingers are back, resting by the dip at his lower back; then, eagerly, without hesitation, reaching under his waistband and grabbing a good handful of _his ass_. Troy jumps. He fumbles to free his own dick as Abed rolls his wrists, pulling his buttcheeks apart and drawing them nigh before spreading him out again like working a perfectly proved Brioche dough. He’s falling, melting, shakily thrusting down against Abed’s cock, almost crying out loud for the heat that’s ablazing his spine from top to bottom even through both of them’s pajama pants. 

The sensation swallows him. His cock is practically throbbing and bouncing in his palm. Troy looks down at Abed— his eyes are large and his pupils are completely blown. His whole body’s vibrating, his mouth wet and lips parted and Troy can tell he’s also doing his best not to make a sound. It’s so _fucking_ hot. Abed is actually losing control, like, in a good way, in a way neither of them could have predicted— Troy paces up his hand, squeezing his dick because he’s starting to edge closer as well. Abed’s squeezing him hard, fingertips brushing against the cleft of his ass, rolling slightly, bucking up to fret against his butt and the inside of his trembling thighs. 

“Troy,” Abed’s jaw drops open, head falling back. “Troy, these are the only pajamas I brought...”

Without a second thought, Troy lifts up his body and reaches down into Abed’s pants, taking the hard, leaking cock and squeezes it into his half filled hand and against his own member, hissing at the added, indescribably luscious source of friction. Abed pulls up his pajama top, his skin glistening with a film of thin sweat. Troy shudders as he begins stroking both of them with an increasingly hurried rhythm, tugging and biting up the hem of his own shirt in between his teeth. He’s so close. Troy’s ears are filled with deafening, surmounting echoes, and he can’t tell if he’s whining or whimpering or even sobbing— not that he cares. 

His vision goes blank. 

Troy’s head is spinning out of control, but he keeps on writhing his fingers like his life depends on it. Abed arching into his palm, eager and demanding and perfectly disheveled. He swears that he hears a soft, choked-back gasp breeze across the room when burning seeds spill out from between his fingers, as Abed jerks up for the last time, freezes before falling onto his back. 

Troy buckles forward, holding on to his consciousness until the tail end of his orgasm rippling through his abdomen. He feels woozy. Abed’s chest waves under him like a lifeboat, and that’s the only reason he isn’t sinking. 

They lay still for a while, panting. Abed reaches up, circling his fingertips at the base of Troy’s neck.

That just happened. 

It happened. Not a dream. In the pillow fort. During— this. During _this_.

Feelings rise up like tides. Troy promises himself that he won’t tear up. 

“I like our apartment.” 

Abed whispers unpromptedly. Troy pushes himself back a bit and gazes down at Abed. His face is still flushed from a moment ago; his eyes are bare and honest. Troy feels a strange tingling in his chest (ah, yet another previously undiscovered emotion waiting for him to process) and decides to finally give in.

“Me too,” Troy replies. “We already built the boulder model from _Raiders_. It’ll be hard to split that in half.”

“The boulder would be pointless without the track.” Abed agrees.

“The whole thing would be pointless without the Harrison Ford figurine.”

“And my limit edition Kickpuncher poster.” Abed adds. “It’s the centerpiece of your bedroom.”

Troy ponders.

“Maybe we should—”

“We can’t just break our deal.” Abed sighs, his face is gentle but sedate. “This is the worst argument we’ve ever had. We need to figure it out, otherwise the study group will never treat us seriously again.” His hand is on Troy’s wrist. “We’ll never treat ourselves seriously again.”

Troy nods. He’s still feeling boneless, but his mind is gradually breaking away from the dizzying mist of sex, and he knows he can trust Abed to make the right decision.

“It’s okay.” Abed purses his lips. “We’ll have a plan before tomorrow’s action ends. And if we don’t— Jules Cobb doesn’t live with Grayson Ellis in Cougar Town.”

Troy hums, considering the implication of them being Jules and Grayson, the thought of leaving his apartment bunk bed behind becoming somewhat less dreadful. Abed cants up his neck and kisses him again. It’s shorter and lighter this time, a mellow peck on the corner of his lips. “See you tomorrow on the battleground.” His voice is somewhat more serious than before. “I’ll still give it my best.”

“Same. I won’t betray my citizens’ trust,” Troy tries to get up from Abed’s chest, careful not to stick his palms on either of them’s clothes. “I shall bring victory to the people of Blanketsburg— with my own two hands,” he vows. “I may need to wipe them somewhere.”

-

Troy makes a turn at the men's restroom before crawling back to his chamber, discarding a stained pillowcase with silver threaded _P. H._ embroidered in cursives. After he wedges behind layers of quilts and slumps into his blanket bed, Troy notices two text notifications lighting up his phone screen.

**Abed Nadir <01:45:06>**

We will figure it out.

He smiles, pressing the flip page button to view the next message.

**Abed Nadir <01:45:10>**

And we can keep fighting until we do.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! Hope you liked it! >.< Kudos and comments are very very welcomed !!  
> My tumblr: [softhauntedwinds](https://softhauntedwinds.tumblr.com) (I post art and stuff on there) :DDD


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